


Divinity's Gift| Is Nothing At All

by xwannaflyx



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, TW: minor suicide ideation, Tenten (Naruto)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25735894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xwannaflyx/pseuds/xwannaflyx
Summary: "My gift to you."The words haunt her like aching weight of something on her chest. She keeps waking up to tears or screaming, unsure of what she is reaching for. There's something long out of grasp and she doesn't know what it is and why she mourns it so bitterly.
Relationships: Hyuuga Neji/Tenten
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Divinity's Gift| Is Nothing At All

**Author's Note:**

> written for NejiTen Month 2020 Prompt: Desiderium 
> 
> look if no one wanted angst i really shouldn't have received a prompt like "desiderium"

She’s reaching for something. There’s something almost within her reach, almost in her grasp and she feels the loss viscerally when it slips past her fingers. The loss threatens to swamp her and as she opens her mouth to scream something brushes against her ear. “My gift for you.” 

In the next moment, she’s awake, bolting upright from the same dream that has woken her for the past several weeks. Months. Her heartbeat feels like thunder in her ears and Tenten carefully pushes down on her chest, hoping the physical pressure would ease the strange crushing sensation in her chest. 

“Tenten?” Hinata’s expression is wary and Tenten tries to offer her a smile. It falls flat. “How many nights has it been?” she asks.

She doesn’t know why she dreams of those words every night. She doesn’t know why everytime she has that dream she wakes up gasping, reaching for something that is long out of her reach. She doesn’t know what’s haunting her but as soon as she gets her hands on them she’s going to shake them around until they understand  _ personally  _ what it feels like to have your heart racing out of your chest. “It’s fine, Hinata,” she says back because she doesn’t know what else to say. How to tell Hinata that she thinks she’s gone quite mad and she doesn’t know why. How to tell Hinata about the nights in which she  _ doesn’t  _ wake up with that whisper ringing in her ears but instead sobbing, convinced that her heart is carved out of her chest but unable to know why. How to tell her about the nights where she stares at the ceiling, sleep a too far phantom. “Just another dream.” She wants to say nightmare but that doesn’t seem quite right either. The nights when she doesn't feel the loss aching through her very bones feel worse than the nights that she does. 

“You haven’t slept properly in weeks,” Hinata says back, her chin beginning to tilt mulishly. 

Tenten almost smiles at the reminder of... of what. Hinata is the only Hyuuga she really gets along with; there’s no other Hyuuga who she would have learned the mulish tilt of the chin from first. Nonetheless, the familiar image tugs at something in her memories and Tenten barely manages a smile through the throbbing headache. “I’m fine, Hinata.” Tenten offers Hinata the best smile she can muster and meets her pale ( _ familiar _ ) eyes. 

Hinata looks at the dark circles under Tenten’s eyes. She looks at the way her skin stretches thin and pale against her bones and the strange haunting, faraway glance in her usually lively gaze. Hinata has never really questioned the intention of the gods but she can’t help but think that they were mistaken when they made this choice. “I’ll make you some tea,” she finally says with a firm nod. Neji has never asked the family, including her, for anything. But right before the war he had been willing to beg her to look after Tenten so that is what she will do. 

Tenten smiles fondly after Hinata’s resolute form. Her strong belief in tea being the answer to most of the world’s woes is adorable and— She cut the thought off again. She doesn’t know why looking at Hinata always makes the pit in her stomach yawn open; she doesn’t understand how Hinata, one of her closest friends, only ever seems to remind her of some faraway thought that she can’t quite grasp. Hinata is Hinata and who would she be reminding her of anyway?

“Chamomile,” Hinata says firmly reappearing at the doorway with a little mug. Tenten reluctantly smiles at the obstinacy in Hinata’s features, in the downturn of her mouth. The image echoes strangely in her mind and Tenten can almost see Hinata with darker hair and lighter eyes. Shaking away the reminder, she carefully takes the mug from Hinata. Her hand is trembling.

-x-

Tenten stares blankly out into the distance and Sakura winces when she sees the way Tenten is idly twirling a knife. “Tenten,” she calls carefully. 

Tenten blinks and it takes several long moments for her eyes to refocus and turn to Sakura. “Hey,” she says back, almost cheerful. Her eyes still seem faraway and Sakura notes the way she flinches, hard, at the loud cry of a bird. “That’s a hawk,” Tenten blurts, eyes focusing past Sakura’s shoulder. 

Tenten has actually never known that much about birds; all the knowledge she has was not originally her own. “Nice,” Sakura says weakly, scanning Tenten’s expression for any pain or indications of illness. Of remembrance. 

“Did I always know the difference between bird calls?” Tenten asks her, her expression vaguely lost. 

Sakura feels her spine stiffen. She remembers the way Tenten used to smile, her teeth gleaming bright and her eyes glowing. The gentle softness of the two of them when they looked at each other, the rare comradery in their silences. She remembers the way Tenten had screamed, the sound wrenching itself from her throat and at least as harsh as a knife wound. Tenten had then fallen silent, her eyes staring blankly and searching for someone that was no longer there. She remembers the almost gentle almost kind smile on the goddess’s lips as she had gently touched Tenten’s face and the way her eyes had rolled back before she crumpled to the floor. 

Sakura carefully clenches her fist before letting go. Anger gets her nowhere. Fear gets her nowhere. “You always had such a weird memory for weird things,” Sakura teases easily, letting the smile on her face seem casual. 

“But that was always about weapons,” Tenten says back. There’s a slight furrow between her brows and she seems searching. “ _ I  _ didn’t know about birds,” she says slowly, like she’s talking to herself. 

Sakura can’t help the way a shudder runs down a spine, like a premonition. There’s no situation in which Tenten could casually shake off a seal that a goddess had placed on her memories. But the way she emphasized herself, the way she searches Sakura’s face, eyes hard and focused in a way that they haven’t been in weeks, Sakura feels fear delicately trail its fingers down her back. “Surely you must have,” she says, far more easily than she really feels. 

There’s a strange struggle in her expression before it falls flat again, “I suppose.” Sakura feels her heart sink; Tenten’s expression is dull and lifeless yet again. 

-x-

“Tenten,” Hinata whispers hesitantly, carefully approaching Tenten’s sleeping form. She doesn’t want to wake her when she is all too aware of how little Tenten has slept; but there is a class coming in soon and Tenten would not react well to waking with strangers. At the first brush of her fingers against Tenten’s arm, Tenten’s eyes snap open. Her hand flashes out to grab Hinata’s arm and she stares blankly into Hinata’s eyes. 

“Tenten,” Hinata says softly, trying to keep her body language peaceful.

Suddenly, Tenten’s expression crumples with grief and soul deep wrath. “You abandoned me.” The words spit out like an accusation but has the tone of a mournful confession. “You abandoned me and you didn’t care.”

Hinata freezes, her muscles going slack in shock. There’s no way Tenten is properly awake; there’s no way that she actually remembers. 

“You—” Tenten’s hand slips off of Hinata’s arm but Hinata remains frozen. Tenten blinks and her expression slackens into casual, sleepy ease. “Hinata,” she says with a faint smile, “is a class about to come in?” Tenten focuses back on Hinata’s face and frowns in concern. “Hinata?” 

Hinata feels frozen with fear, with anger, with hurt. “Tenten,” she finally manages through a dry throat. She carefully takes a step back and clears her throat. “Bad dream?” she asks, too casual.

Tenten searches Hinata’s expression, and Hinata briefly feels like flinching under the calculation in that gaze. “Nothing much,” she says easily even though the dream had actually been sweet. There had been an unfamiliar ( _ familiar _ ) warmth in her dream and she had been smiling so wide that her cheeks hurt. She meets Hinata’s pale gaze and tries to push down the instinct that says that they are  _ wrong _ . 

-x-

“Am I all good, doc?” Tenten teases easily, retying her robes and tightening her belt. 

Sakura scowls at her fondly. “You were never all good,” she teases back before turning to her charts. “There doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage from your injuries in the war,” Sakura says and she feels the careful way the word “war” falls from her lips. It’s not that the war itself is a secret but it is a nationwide secret how it ended. “Not even from the knock you took to your head,” Sakura adds, lying easily through a smile. 

Tenten’s smile is wry. “Thanks.” 

As Tenten turns away to continue fixing her clothes and gathering her things, Sakura feels her smile freeze unnaturally on her face. Angering the gods had been a fatal error that the king had made and, as usual, it had been his people that paid for it. Even she remembers what it felt like to endlessly scrub blood out of her hands and feel pulses slow and stop under her fingertips. The war had gone on for five years then ended abruptly in sacrifice. The gods, briefly appeased, had left with terrifying suddenness; the people of the kingdom were left to recover. The gods are capricious and, as always, it is mortals that must pay the price. 

“Woah, are the results worse than you said?” Tenten asks, her teasing expression swimming into view. 

Sakura refocuses and drags up a smile. “Only your ugly face,” she manages to joke. Tenten’s laugh is surprisingly easy and Sakura flashes back to hearing her scream. The sound had rend through the air and in a fit of madness or pique or spite, Tenten had attempted to jump after Neji into the rapidly closing entrance to the Underworld. Only Lee’s inhumanly fast reflexes had managed to tackle her into the ground. Then she had laughed, the sound tinged with madness and grief then the goddess—

“Sakura.” There’s a real note of concern in Tenten’s voice and Sakura shakes away the echo of mad grief. 

Sakura laughs awkwardly and shakes her head. “Sorry, haven't been sleeping enough.” The excuse comes easily. With her various medical research projects under Tsunade and the remaining patients from the war, she’s always busy at the hospital or the university. Tenten’s smile is sympathetic. Sakura knows that she’s newly the head of the military unit that Neji used to head; Tenten might not know who she’s replacing but there’s no doubt that the military is also reeling from the effects of the wars. 

“You have to take care of yourself too, Sakura,” Tenten teases, fond and gentle. “If you fall, who will take care of your patients?”

“Tsunade,” Sakura retorts easily, tone dry. Tenten laughs and Sakura traces the movement of her features.  _ If I fall sick _ , she thinks looking at the rare joy on Tenten’s face,  _ who will take care of all of you? _ All her friends trying to recover from the war. Tenten mourning someone that she cannot remember. Hinata mourning a lost brother. Millions of people mourning lost family and homes. 

It’s only been three months since the war. Sakura has never felt older. 

-x-

There’s the touch of wind on her cheeks and all the aches that Tenten has long since become used to is gone. There are fingers running through her hair and Tenten smiles up at the unknown individual, luxuriating in the easy comfort. 

“Tenten,” the person says and Tenten isn’t sure if she knows this voice. She must know it; there is something undeniably familiar and comforting about it but she can’t remember who it belongs to. “I wish you would sleep more,” the voice continues and Tenten wants to smile at the (familiar) scolding note. 

“I’m doing my best,” she replies easily, tilting her head slightly to get his fingers to move to where her hair ties have dug into her scalp. There’s a slight chuckle and he acquieses, fingers moving in soothing circles over the sore area. “I miss you.” The words are blurted out and Tenten frowns, unsure where such sentiment had come from. “I miss you everyday.”

The fingers still then reach further down and gently brush a finger under her eyes, gathering wetness. She didn’t even realize she was crying. “I know,” he says softly, sorrow and regret heavy in his voice. 

She misses him. She wants to hold his hand and watch the rare joy fill his eyes. She wants to just see him. She wants to— Tenten stills and the unknown ( _ known _ ) owner of the hand stills with her. “I can’t open my eyes,” she says softly, something like panic and age old pain tightening her chest. 

The brush of his fingers are meant to sooth; they do not. 

“I can’t remember,” she confesses into the cradle of his palm. “I can’t remember you and I know that’s not right. I don’t even remember your name,” she whispers. 

She feels the corded muscles flex then ease. “That’s okay,” he replies gently despite the clear sorrow in his voice. “Whatever you had to do to fulfill the promise. It’s all okay.”

Promise. Tenten doesn’t remember any promise. Tenten remembers the war and every single cruelty and atrocity she saw and committed in order to survive. Tenten remembers the faces of every person that fell beneath her blade; hell, for most, she even remembers which blade it was. But there is no promise in her memories. “What promise?” The words sound hazy and her tongue is too heavy and thick in her mouth.

“Tenten—”

She remembers the war. But despite all those years at the frontline, she doesn’t have a single scar on her back. There was someone watching her back through the entire war. There was someone whose shoulder blades pressed against her own, whose movements she could read between than the movement of her blades. 

“Tenten, stop—!”

Sakura had mentioned a knock to her head. Tenten always knew better than to leave her head unprotected; a helmet could only do so much after all. Why would a knock to her head which happened too close to the end of the war cause her to forget a single measly promise but not the intricate details and strategies that had gone into each battle? 

With a sharp slap, Tenten is knocked back into the present. There are calloused palms on both of her cheeks and a warm forehead pressed against her own. “Tenten,” he says soothingly. Beseechingly. “Let it go. You promised me.”

_ I swore an oath on the blood that flowed through us both,  _ Tenten thinks, unbidden. Her eyes snap open as the pressure of someone else’s forehead lifts and all she can see are pools of pale lavender.  _ I drowned in you once _ .

“Tenten.” The words sound distorted and the face is fading. 

There’s the high, tinkling, girlish laughter, the one that she hears in all her nightmares as it speaks of some sort of gift. Her hands dart up and grasp the hands on her cheek, fear hollowing out her stomach. “Neji,” she whispers and her dream is swallowed in chaos and ringing laughter. 

“Neji,” she repeats, sitting up in bed. The person she was meant to have and to hold and in the end has managed neither. Neji with his strictness and his fondness of birds and his uptight mulishness. Neji with the fond smiles and the gentle tilts of the head. Neji— Even as she tries frantically to remember, the details continue to fade from memory. Neji who she had sworn an oath to. Neji who she had forgotten.

She pauses in the middle of stepping out of bed. Forgotten. To forget over two decades of existence together, of training and fighting and laughing and loving. To forget years of unending, blinding trust in a single moment reeks of divine intervention. 

“Neji,” she repeats carefully, trying to commit the word to memory. Neji, whose face she cannot recall; Neji, who abandoned her to save the universe as if it ever deserved his sacrifice. Neji, who she forgot because of the touch of a god. 

She pauses again as her feet touch the floor. Not a god, a goddess. The ringing laughter in her dreams had not been imagined, just as the half familiar-half remembered touch of Neji’s hand against hers had not been imagined. A goddess had intervened in her memories and forced her to forget Neji who had once been everything. For once, Tenten feels the aching guilt and loss wash away in a wave of fury. 

She stands and quickly gathers her things. No divinity is ever really capable of refraining from coming back to see what they had wrought. That meant... Tenten nods affirmatively and grabs a candle and flint before marching her way to the temple. 

In a haze, she completes the walk to the temple. Standing before the stone statue of the goddess, Tenten peers up at the expression etched into the stone. There’s something faintly mocking and unendingly gleeful in the tilt of her lips and Tenten feels a shudder run down her spine. Setting aside her unease, Tenten carefully struck a spark to light the candle and sends up the proper prayers to call for answers. 

There is a long moment of stillness then the crash of thunder and ringing, haunting laughter. Squeezing her eyes shut to suppress the instinctive fear that digs in its fingers, Tenten carefully breaths through the first, wild brush against divinity. It had always burned and sparked against her senses during the war; she remembers this now. “Goddess,” she croaks because her throat is still too tight with panic and anger. Her hands are trembling.

“Oh my child,” the goddess croons, her form wispy and awe-inspiring. She sweeps through the temple and the touch sense of her against Tenten, even as a breeze, frazzles her senses. “Up so late!”

“I wished to—” Tenten feels the tremble of her hands enter her voice and clenches her hands into a fist. Is the fear worse now that she knew what she had lost? How had she stood against the fury of divinity during those long years of the war? She breaths in slowly and lets it out at a seven count, the action a memory of Neji—of the one who skips in and out of her memory. 

“Oh!” There’s excitement in the gleam of the goddess’ eyes and Tenten swallows in her fear. Gods’ eyes had gleamed the same in bloodlust. “You’re the one I gave that little seal to!”

The cheer in the goddess’ voices mutes Tenten with anger. There’s too many memories and words and emotions drowning her and she doesn’t know where to even start. “You sealed my memories,” she finally croaks, trying to decide between terror, fury, grief, and straightforward wrath. There’s something comforting about the anger; its claws don’t dig as deep as her grief does. 

“It was a gift,” the goddess says sweetly, and Tenten stares at her blankly. The goddess flickers in and out of view and she is as fickle as she is difficult to pin down. “You reeked of loss. I made it better for you.” The smile she offers is patronizing and poisonously kind. Tenten feels the trail of coolness trace the undersides of her eyes which she knows are red and swollen from uncomprehending sobbing. “I helped you forget.” 

“It was no gift,” Tenten says and her voice can’t rise above a whisper. She remembers those words haunting in her ears every night. How difficult it had been to breath when she saw certain things but unable to make the connection to the aching loss tightening in her chest. 

“He was but one mortal boy,” the goddess says easily and her smile is fond, like an older sibling teasing the younger. “You will forget him easily either way.”

The words and emotion threaten to choke her throat. How to express how little forgetting had been a gift; how to say she had felt every second of the loss but simply been unable to understand it. The emotions rise and crest. “He was  _ mine _ !” Tenten screams back finally, the accusation ringing through the hallowed halls of the temple. For the millionth time in the past couple months she feels the way her throat tightens and her eyes burn. The ever-present slightly condescending smile on the goddess’s face suddenly fades. “To love, to mourn, to  _ remember _ . All of it was  _ mine _ .” 

The goddess’s expression turns as hard as the stone legends say she was formed of. “You are mortal,” she says coolly. When she smiles, her teeth are as sharp as the daggers that Tenten loves. “Mortals will always forget. All I did was help the process along.”

Tenten barely remembers Neji. She only faintly remembers the image of lavender pale eyes and ink black hair. She remembers the way it felt when his fingers trailed gently through her hair after her scalp hurt from keeping it in buns for so long. She doesn’t remember the firm details of his face or what it looked like when he smiled, the look of his eyes when he looked at her. But she remembers the way joy threatened to burst through her chest whenever she glimpsed his smile that she can’t remember. She remembers the way loving him felt like warmth and hugging him was coming home. And she remembers the past couple months where she felt like something fundamental had been carved out of her and she just couldn't remember what; it had felt like madness. “You understand nothing of mortals,” she croaks back while accusations and threats and anger still crowd in her throat. “You think it never mattered because it will not last. But all of it mattered to me.”

The smile the goddess offers back is mocking. “You will survive the loss,” she says easily, her hand moving in careless dismissal. “Mortals always survive until they don’t.”

“It’s not about survival,” Tenten argues back, barely restraining herself from screaming at a goddess again. “He was—”  _ a part of me _ she wants to say but that isn’t quite true. She never really believed that anyone completes anyone but Neji complemented her better than anything else in her life. He was the solid  _ knowing _ like when a dagger left her hand and even before it landed she knew it would strike true. He was the stillness of the waters that calmed and tempered her rashness. How to explain—

“What would you sacrifice,” the goddess muses, her expression suddenly alight with avarice and interest, “to have him back?” The goddess coils close and the whispers of touch against her bare skin make Tenten shudder. “What can you offer me?”

_ Everything, _ Tenten wants to shriek but she stills her tongue. For one, Neji taught her better than to fall for unfair wagers; for another, he would never forgive her if she sacrificed herself for him.  _ Anything _ echoes the sentiment in her mind, but that isn’t quite true either. “To have him back,” she whispers softly to herself and the dream is so close she can almost taste it. How it would feel to be able to clearly recall his face, the edge of his cheekbones and the shine of his eyes when he smiles. To finally be able to remember the way his voice sounds; to remember the intimate moments of silence and confessions and touch. For a moment she can clearly grasp the features of his face, the long thin nose and the wry quick of his lips. In the next, the image slips through her fingers like sand. The loss hits her as hard as every moment of remembrance has since he had walked into the Underworld and not looked back. 

“Your darling Neji,” she whispers, and Tenten faintly notes that the goddess’ smile is suddenly gentle, softened, teeth filed flat. “To have him back in your arms.”

The loss threatens to swamp her and Tenten suddenly remembers the faint press of dry lips against her own. A sweaty, overly warm forehead had been pressed against her and she had voiced an oath through heaving sobs. The last touch of calloused fingertips against her and the split moment in which she wished desperately that her fingers were soft as a proper lady’s to be able to cling to that sensation for a second longer. It’s been one hundred days and he still haunts her; but the oath he had leveraged out of her at the cost of his own life hits her harder than the loss does. “It’s been one hundred days since I lost him,” she finally says and she reluctantly drags her eyes away from her fingertips to meet the goddess’s own. Away from the haze of loss she can see the greed and wicked amusement pooling in those ever-changing eyes. “And I swore him an oath.” She takes a careful step away from the goddess and sees the way the eyes darken, the touch sense of danger digging through the pit of her stomach. “I lost him one hundred days ago and there’s nothing anyone is going to do that’ll bring him back.”

The shriek that rings through the halls rips through her harder than letting go of that half-realized hope. When the noise finally fades, she stands alone in the temple and the stone statue of the goddess is still and unmoving. Tenten watches silently as the candle she had placed on the altar flickers then dies and pitches her into darkness. 

“Promise me you won’t do anything foolish,” Neji had snarled, half anger and half desperation. He had pressed his fingertips into her skin like a threat and his energy had already been flickering at the edges. The blood dripping down his face had been shockingly warm and the pressure of a divine rage had choked her throat. “Tenten, promise me you’ll move on!”

Tenten had twisted her fingers into his tunic, her teeth bared in a snarl and bitterly angry that he would dare leverage an oath from her like this. When they had kissed, it had tasted of salt, iron, and pain; she had welcomed it. “No,” she had growled onto bloody lips, blinking away the sweat from her eyes and unwilling to let him rest. “Neji—”

“This will end the war,” Neji had swore, tilting his forehead against hers. The tacky touch of his sweaty skin against her own had been both gratifying and disgusting. “Tenten,  _ promise me _ !”

_ This will end me _ , Tenten had thought, still thinks.  _ This will end me and you don’t care _ . Neji is undeserving of the bitterness that still strangles her but Tenten doesn’t know how to let it go. In some ways, she doesn’t want to let it go; it is the last bit of Neji that she has. 

She had begged to go with him. He had refused. 

She had promised. She had lost him. 

“It’s all very well and good for you, Neji,” Tenten says into the silent, forgiving darkness. “You force an oath then you walk away and you’re dead. It’s rather easy being dead.” Closing her eyes and opening them still only lends darkness to her vision; no matter what, she can only see the haunting glow of pale eyes and feel the terrible warmth of blood on her hands. The oaths she had gritted out, covered in blood and dirt and anger and wishing desperately to die. The aching loss and the numbing haze. She wishes she had cursed him in the moment, had screamed the accusations that had laid heavy on her tongue. But the fear of knowing that her last words would be in anger and fear had stilled her and she would have said anything to chase away the feral desperation in his usually still eyes. She takes in a deep breath and lets it go, tilting up her chin in a challenge. “But I’m the one that has to live with it.” The words echo heavily in the temple and the strangely neutral, strangely threatening words are only heard by the dead. 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why all my nejiten fics seem to be keep ending up as tragic angry whirlpools of rage but uh sorry?


End file.
